


Arlen Nights

by Maksvell



Category: King of the Hill
Genre: Anarchy, Blood and Gore, Fun, Homicide, Pimp!Connie, Propane, Propane Accesories to violence, Stripper!Dale, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Violence, Zombie!Cotton, and
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-09-28 05:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17177204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maksvell/pseuds/Maksvell
Summary: “Arlen has really gone downhill,” said Hank as he laid down on top of the Dead Bug of  Dale’s van. Conservative values don’t matter. All that matters is debauchery.“Yeah, well whatever Hank. Just get back in the damn van so that I can get to the club, I’ve got nine crates of ecstasy to feed those angsty club kids,” said Dale from inside the van, dressed in his best pair of neon purple vinyl pants and banana yellow tube top. Hank looked up once more at the Texan sky as the sun began to set, and he let out a great sigh before climbing down and getting in the van.





	1. Beers Pt. 1

“Arlen has really gone downhill,” said Hank as he laid down on top of the Dead Bug of Dale’s van. Conservative values don’t matter. All that matters is debauchery. 

“Yeah, well whatever Hank. Just get back in the damn van so that I can get to the club, I’ve got nine crates of ecstasy to feed those angsty club kids,” said Dale from inside the van, dressed in his best pair of neon purple vinyl pants and banana yellow tube top. Hank looked up once more at the Texan sky as the sun began to set, and he let out a great sigh before climbing down and getting in the van. 

It had been a year since Peggy went to jail for killing Bill and JoJack in a Mexican standoff, and Buck Strickland and his zombie slave Cotton had only now gotten around to cleaning the blood off the western wall, right next to the entrance.

“Goddang it,” Hank lept out of the car as soon as he saw the zombie form of his father and ran up to his boss. 

“Dang it Buck, I told you-you can’t be using my dead dad as your slave, it just ain't right.”

 

“Well, Hank. He doesn’t complain much and he’s a hard worker.”

“He’s a hard worker because you forced John Redcorn to resurrect him through black magick, dangit, John still can’t close his eyes without having intense visions of an unknowable fear that grips men's hearts and drives the living mad. Poor bastard’s been up for weeks.”

“Boy!” shouted the shambling corpse of Cotton Hill.

“Yes, dad I know, you want to eat the flesh of virgins. But, you’re going to have to settle for a meatloaf tv dinner tonight.”

“Boy…” said the corpse of Cotton Hill sadly.

“Dale, put dad in the car would you?”

The skimpily dressed pale man rushed over and walked zombie Cotton over to the van, where he then began to bang his head against the interior wall.

“Dammit, Old Top, what’s wrong with you?”

“I’m trying to maintain order, Mr. Strickland.”

“Maintainin’ order, honestly do you know how stupid that sounds? Since Heimlich County became a sovereign nation, anarchy is what rules these mean streets. It’s like that old saying, ‘what happened to those good old-fashioned values, on which we useta rely?’ Well, I’m sorry to say Old Top, but, the only thing we can rely on is the money of Sugarfoot's and the life givin’ power of my propane.”

Hank let out another perturbed sigh. Dale ran away from the back entrance of Sugarfoot's. 

“Hank, Buck, help. I ran afoul of a mean butch girl with a knife, she’s out for blood Hank!”

“BWAAAAH!” shouted Hank angrily at his pale, mostly naked friend before running off to deal with the butch girl with the knife. 

The butch girl with the knife turned out to be the zombified form of Luanne’s Ex Buckley.

“Hey,” said the Buckley zombie as he lunged at Hank with his massive bone dagger, earning him a smack across the mouth that sent him to the ground.

The dullard bastard whore wasn’t going to get up.

 

The drive home was just as unbearable as the ride to Sugarfoot's. Dale was in the driver’s seat, smoking the longest damn cigarette that Hank had ever seen. Meanwhile, the radio was blasting some ungodly medley that sounded like a fat man was hitting a trash can with a war ax. The damn melody sent him into a dream for five seconds, and he only awoke when Dale tapped his shoulder.

“BWAAAH!”

“We’re here,” said Dale as he climbed out of the car, just before the side of it got pepperboxed by a shotgun blast.

“Goddamnit, Luanne. What did I tell you about that?”

“To only shoot at strangers, Uncle Hank?” said Luanne as she climbed down from her tree fortress of pain and misery.

“No dammit, to not shoot at all, Now help me get my dad out of the back of my van.”

“Sorry Uncle Hank, but my girlfriend’s biker gang needs me at the tribune.”

“For god’s sake...fine.”

Hank trudged back to the house after putting a dog leash on his zombie dad and leading him to his Cotton house which was a repurposed plastic shed that he forced his zombie dad into to protect him from the elements. As he entered the garage he hears the queerest sound coming from the backyard. Going to the back he discovered Connie Souphanousinphone standing at the top of a lifeguard’s tower dressed in a furry black cape, at the top of which was a collar of fur and feathers, whilst wearing a painfully white suit, while below at the base of the tower Bobby and Joseph were digging a massive hole to bury the body of Alabaster Jones. 

“Oh my god, my lawn...Bobby! What in the hell are you doing?”

“Hey dad, sorry but Pimp Master Connie says that we have to dig the hole or she’ll kill us both.”

“Yeah, so you best back off Mister Hill before you see something you regret.”

“Connie, you best get your ass down before I kick it.”

“You force my hand! Joseph! Demonstrate for Hank!”

Joseph dropped his shovel and he seemed to lose all traces of personality as he ripped off his own shirt and clambered out of the whole like some sort of deranged spider creature. He then proceeded to lift the body of Alabaster Jones up above his head, puncturer the corpse’s skin and muscle like it was silly putty and rip the corpse in half! Splattering the deranged Joseph in the entrails of the dead pimp, still hot and steaming from his recent demise.

“Oh my god!” Hank couldn’t help but stare at his best friend’s son as he tossed the bisected body into the hole with his son/.

“That’s right old man, that’s why you don’t fuck with the Rainey Street Three. Joseph! As you were.”

Joseph suddenly felt a little drowsy and fell into the four-foot deep pit before whispering, “Sleepy…”

“We’re also taking your fucking truck, Hank.” 

“O-okay, I’ll be in the alley.”

Hank Rutherford Hill marched into the garage and took a cooler of beers out of a locked box deep in a cavernous crater that Connie dug to host pit fights between spiders and scorpions. Connie has become a cruel bastard. He then proceeded to march into the alley while Connie, Bobby, and Joseph peeled out of the driveway in Hank’s Truck, which had recently been refashioned to be mostly covered in metal armor and spikes. It was like if a truck designed by Rob Liefeld in the 90s. He watched as it went by and placed the cooler between him and Dale, who was now dressed in a Prussian military dress uniform, complete with a stupid spiked German helmet, while Boomhauer was naked save for a pair of rip covered tiger print undies. The radio that Boomhauer had taken to wearing around his neck like a necklace was booming the song Aint That a Kick in The Head while he rapidly shotgunned beer after beer after beer.

“Dammit Boomhauer you can’t be doing that, there are only fifteen Alamo beer’s left in Heimlich county, and if you drink the last ten I’m going to have to kick your ass.”

 

“DangoldmantheskysgonnafallanditsgonnabelikeBOOM!manyknow...just boom man.”

“I don’t care.”

“Hank, if I might make a suggestion. Due to Heimlich County being more or less cut off from the rest of the U.S causing our supply of beer to run low, we might want to look into brewing our own beer.”

“Hey, that’s a great idea Dale, will start making our own beer.”

“And selling it, because the ecstasy business has dried up for me since I got attacked by that butch girl behind the Sugarfoot's.”

There was a heavy silence in which Bill would have normally spoken, and they all lingered on the fact that their oldest friend was, in fact, dead as shit.

 

Two Days later.

 

Dale was a stone cold bastard, with a cock like a dragon made of leather that spewed the sweet cream that’s at the centre of orange cream popsicles. He was speeding down the streets in search of the last true source of hops in all of Arlen. The Sugarfoot's Food Truck. In his passenger seat, he had the only man (other than John Redcorn) that he’d ever loved the zombie corpse of Cotton Hill.

“Boy?” 

“Yes Colonel, we’re closing in on them. If my intel is to be trusted the Sugarfoot's Food Truck is now operated by Incels, so yes you shall soon dine of the flesh of virgins.”

Zombie Cotton nodded in agreement, “Boy…” 

Dale narrowed in on the bumper of the food truck and slammed the front end of his van into it, causing them to skid slightly. He then grabbed the CB radio that was connected to a massive speaker that he mounted in the bug on top of his van. 

“Pull to the side of the road you hop hogging sons of bitches.”

Zombie Cotton grabbed the radio from him and shouted into the CB, “BOY!”

They responded by tossing a small deep fat fryer out the window, the damn thing fell against the hood of the van sticking it in oil. Dale yelled in disbelief and pulled to the left of the food truck and took out a poison spraying wand from his arsenal of pest control appliances. He aimed it into the window and pulled the trigger, filling the truck with pure poison and causing it to skid and slam its ass into a nearby building.

The Dale’s Dead Bug van skid to a halt next to it and dale walked out in a bright yellow hazmat suit, armed with only a scoped .44 magnum revolver, an empty backpack, and a hungry zombie Cotton. The two marched towards the back of the truck and forced open the back causing the poisons to leak out onto the streets. 

Cotton took a long sniff and breathed out slowly, “Ahhhhh, boy…”

Dale nodded at Cotton and they entered the back of the food truck, finding most of its staff dead, save for stuttering, the plump virgin who’s legs laid shattered underneath a refrigerator.

“Y-you son of a whore Gribble, thuh-this wont be the end of this,” he said trying not to cry. 

“If I were able to smoke in this hazmat suit I would flick a lit cigarette at you,” Dale then froze and considered it for a moment. “On second thought.” 

He then proceeded to dig a pack of cigarettes out of his bag, light one and toss it at the guy, the cigarette’s cherry burning his secondary chin causing him to break and scream, and this caused Dale to laugh and laugh. 

“You psychotic son of a bitch!” 

Dale then began to haul the crates of hops back to his van. 

“I’m gonna come back and cut your fucking di-Wait, what are you doing? Fuck off Cotton!”

Zombie Cotton then began to tear into his chest and feast upon his flesh and organs while he screamed and screamed and screamed! Within moments the zombie that is Cotton Hill burrowed his way into the chest cavity of the tubby incel.

Dale had to pick his blood covered ass up an hour later.


	2. The Nancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck me, I don't like this.

Given her daughter’s status as the worst motherfucker in all of Arlen, Min Souphanousinphone found herself quickly living in the lap of luxury and sensuality that she found lacking before President Jimbles declared Heimlich County to be a sovereign nation. She found herself developing a lifestyle that would have made the mole men of Springfield jealous as all hell. Her daughter converted their home into a hedonistic temple of debauchery. His husband was locked in a cage and turned into a wild animal, being forced to fight other middle-aged Laotian men on Thursdays for the people of the town to watch and lose money on betting against Khan. The house immediately next to theirs was invaded by Connie and her two servant-friends who quickly murdered the previous inhabitants, only to turn it into the best damn strip club/brothel/deli in all of Heimlich County. Many would come from all around to gawk at or spend the night with one of the many fine women that Connie employed. It was also no slight that they sold the best damn cold cuts in town.  
The money rolling in kept her mother from being murdered, and best of all it afforded to her something that she always wanted, to date Nancy Hicks Gribble. Sure she thought about it in her free time, when she wasn’t having to think about how much she regretted marrying Khan. But for some reason, right here, right now, at this place, and at this time, she felt like the two of them could truly be together. That and Nancy looked undeniably badass when she would walk around their fortified future palace dressed as Emma Frost from the X-Men. The two would often spend their days cuddling on the couch while wrapped in the finest white fur cloaks watching Jessica Jones on Connie’s Netflix account. And it was no skin off of Dale’s nose either, he and Nancy separated on friendly, and understanding terms. It was mostly because Dale really wanted to shake his spandex-clad ass at the club while selling poppers to senior citizens behind Sugarfoot's. 

Speaking of Dale, he was sitting still dressed head to toe in a bright yellow hazmat suit while he and his friends started to brew beer. 

“Boy, this is shaping up to be the finest beer in town, I tell you what.”

“Yeah, whatever, HANK! When’s it supposed to be ready to drink?” Shouted Dale’s muffled voice through his hazmat suit gas mask.

They stood there for several long hours as John Redcorn crawled around in the back, violently grinding his crotch on numerous surfaces in an effort to drive out the violent images of otherworldly deities. Their meditation on the beer was quickly stopped when they heard the door bust down and saw Connie, BOBBY! And Joseph walks down the stairs, Connie still dressed in a white fur cape that was too long for her decision to sit on Bobby’s shoulders to make herself taller. Connie likes to be tall, fuck you. 

“God Dangit Bobby, what the hell’s happening now?”

Bobby didn’t say anything, he just eyed his dad like he was the dumbest piece of shit in the world. He then ran over to where John Redcorn was and Connie grabbed a hold of him by the neck and lifted him off the ground before digging her knife into the poor bastard’s neck and forcing the blade through the spine and the muscles, spraying blood all over her and Bobby as she did so. Causing Hank and Boomhauer to scream in abject terror, while Dale simply decided to take off his hazmat suit hood to smoke a cigarette.

“Wingooo,” said Dale as he caught John Redcorn’s severed head when Connie tossed it like it was a volleyball. 

“Connie, I don’t understand, what did we do?”

“You were infringing on my territory. This is strike two old man, fuck with us again and the next thing we’ll take from you is the place where fifty percent of Bobby is from,” she pointed the blade’s tip at his crotch causing HANK! To shoot her a look of terror. She did all this before making Bobby kick over their beer making machine.

The machine then consequently caught on fire as Connie quietly hummed the melody to Funhouse.

A violent explosion rocked upstairs, causing Hank and Connie’s bullshit friends to duck in terror as the house was rocked and a familiar voice called out to all of them.

“Why don’t ya come out here old top!” shouted the voice of Buck Strickland through a megaphone.


End file.
